


How To Train Your Dragonlord

by lembas7



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (2010), Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 18:48:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lembas7/pseuds/lembas7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is Berk. It snows nine months out of the year, and hails the other three. The best thing about it are the pets. They have dragons – and Merlin has never seen anything like it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How To Train Your Dragonlord

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I possess no rights to the below-mentioned copyrighted works under 17 USC 106; however, as a crossover work I claim the transformative use defense per 17 USC 107. 
> 
> A/N: AU from the end of Merlin Series 4, and taking into account the movie ‘How to Train Your Dragon’, but none of the sequels, shorts, or cartoon series related to it. 
> 
> This is the first chapter of several, posted by request. I can't post the next chapter until the whole thing is written, for Reasons of Plot. The whole thing won't be written for awhile, for Reasons of RL.

_Skreeee!_

High, piercing, and echoing with fear, the scream jerked Merlin by the heartstrings even as he twisted, searching for the source. _What –_ A heavy impact slammed him to the ground, stealing the air from his lungs in an explosive “Oof!”

The smell of burnt straw invaded his nose from the bundle of blackened thatch smearing ash across his chest.

_Skreee-eee-eet! Skreee-eee-eet!_

His magic reacted, rising up and yearning towards the sound; Merlin gasped at the sensation, closing blue eyes against a betraying flare of gold. Warmth suffused him and then faded, lingering in readiness just beneath his skin. Air filled his lungs, and his belly clenched tight with trepidation. _Something’s wrong._

“All right there, Merlin?”

Gwaine, grinning as he shoved the mess of charred thatch off Merlin’s chest into the dirt. Merlin grasped the hand offered, righting himself even as his magic reached out, seeking the source of that plaintive wail.

He was ready for the next cry – but not ready to understand it.

_:afraid/fleeing/call-for-adult!:_

Another creature’s terror clutched at his heart, twining inseparably with his own. “Aithusa,” he breathed in horror, blue eyes wide.  

Gwaine’s hand lay heavily on his arm, pulling his attention to brown eyes warm with concern. A furrow darkened the knight’s brow. “What?”

Reality crashed in on Merlin, startling him back into the confines of blood and bone. Early afternoon sun poured down in a wave of heat, pulling sweat up across his skin in a fine sheen. Stray bits of straw prickled through his blue linen shirt. Over the deafening thrum of magic within his heartbeat, he heard Elyan call down from the rooftop above. “Are you alright?”

_No._

He could barely swallow down the power rising in his veins. “I’m – fine,” he managed, darting from beneath Gwaine’s hand to a cart piled high with thatch that was more soot than straw. The dragonling’s panic kept his fingers nimble as he worked at one of the horses’ harnesses, his magic licking out to help as leather straps twisted uncooperatively.

“What are you doing?” Steps came up behind him, and Merlin yanked his magic back with such force that a cough squeezed from his throat. Frustration gritted his teeth as he struggled with a tangle.

His kin was calling for aid, and he was slowed by worthless human sensibilities while the young of his aerie – the _only_ young of his aerie – was threatened.

_Skreeeeeeeeeeeee!_

“Merlin?” Elyan, from the mostly-burnt roof.

No. They were not a detriment – they were his friends.

But they were _in his way._

Merlin sucked in a harsh breath as the last strap finally came loose, a catchall excuse flowing from his lips. “I just remembered – I have to get some herbs for Gaius.”

The animal followed him willingly as he led it free from the cart shafts, tearing the light harness from its back as they went.

“Right now.” Suspicion colored Gwaine’s voice, so thick it couldn’t be missed. “In the middle of re-thatching roofs in the lower town.”

“Yes.” Merlin threw himself onto the horse bareback, ignoring the confusion writ large across his friend’s face. Aithusa’s fear was beating at his soul, and Gwaine was reaching out for his horse’s bridle.

_:scared/adult-help/hurts!:_

Merlin’s breath caught even as _fear-for-young_ overwhelmed him. His voice, when it came, carried across the lower town in a muted dragon’s roar that kicked his horse into flight. “ _Move!_ ”

     

* * *

 

“I expected there to be more damage.” Chainmail chimed as Arthur shifted in his saddle. Blue eyes surveyed acres of farmland that stretched beyond the bounds of the lower town, untouched but for a path four men wide that had been trampled from the western woods to Camelot’s main throughway. Morgana’s mercenaries hadn’t entirely skirted the spring planting, but neither had they gone out of their way to destroy the harvest on the march. “The fields are remarkably intact.”

 _Compared to the last time Morgana seized the citadel._ Even though she’d barely held Camelot a handful of days, burning the fields was among the first things an invading army would do. _If they planned to pillage, and move on._ Not if they planned to settle in.

Granted, the eastern fields had suffered losses and fire-damage, but if Arthur started rationing as soon as the spring harvest came in, they would only have to tighten their belts, and not bury anyone. _God willing._

He remembered her as a child during harsh winters; in the famine brought on by the unicorn’s death. _Her concern was always with the people, her determination put to good use. In that, she was selfless._ How had it come to this? Arthur swiped one gloved hand over his face to push the sting of regret from his eyes.

Llamrai snorted through her bridle as he guided her around edge of the last field, bringing the patrol to a trot on the main road which would carry them all the way back to the citadel.

“You don’t hold a captured castle for any length of time if you burn all the crops,” Leon muttered at his side. “It’s near spring harvest – there wouldn’t be any time to recoup the loss of the winter wheat, and Helios’ army would have been dependant on what’s left in the grain reserves.”

“Or forced to buy from the neighboring kingdoms,” Arthur observed blandly.

If any would sell to her; Camelot’s peace treaties held for Uther, and thus for Arthur – but an usurper, an unacknowledged daughter of Uther’s get? For all Morgana would have been approaching them on bended knee, she’d always had a stiff neck. _Like Father_ –

And Uther had been the only one who found that particular trait of hers endearing, despite their clashes.

Arthur’s mount stepped up the pace, responding to the tightening of his legs. He wrenched his mind from that track, forcing his body to loosen. Llamrai eased beneath him, and the column slowed to a walk.

 _Alined, Lot, Odin . . . they would show no kindness._ Not out of any loyalty to Uther, but because a kingdom in turmoil suffering the threat of starvation was too good an opportunity to let pass – whether that opportunity was to allow her army to deteriorate to ensure easy victory, or to drain the treasury dry in trade.

Camelot’s gold was good, but the king’s coffers were not limitless. _For the army, maybe. But for the people . . ._

Starvation was an ugly way to die.

And Arthur couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his sister accept the possibility of weakness. “Morgana always was adept in the art of war.” _And it seems she is growing more so._ A bitter laugh pushed past his lips. Llamrai danced aside to avoid a deep hole stretching the length of the road. _Another thing that needs seeing to, soon._ “It seems a strange thing to be grateful for.”

His sister’s strategic thinking meant that they would not go hungry in these perilous weeks after winter had run its course but before the summer bounty arrived. She’d threatened the people with burned crops, and burn the crops she had – in the eastern fields, where the ground was rockier and the yield consistently sparser; where the city-dwellers took freely of Camelot’s excess, as they had no acreage of their own. Not the western fields, on which the citadel’s livelihood depended.

Leon’s face twisted. “Sire -”

A deep shout burst over the fields, echoing up from the lower town. Every head in the patrol turned, eyes straining toward the city proper.

“What on earth -” Tor’s voice cut off as Arthur raised one gloved hand.

Llamrai sidestepped skittishly as he reined her in; now Arthur could hear the staccato pounding of hooves, not quite loud enough to muffle the voice yelling in accompaniment. _It’s coming this way – and quickly._ He braced in the saddle, readying himself to unsheathe steel.

A blur of brown and blue, topped with a head of tousled black, bore down on them. Arthur caught a glimpse of pale, familiar features even as the man clinging to the horse’s neck shifted higher. _“Move!”_

His manservant’s voice rattled Arthur down to the bone, and his fingers tightened on the reins. Their mounts – every last one a battle-tested destrier long cured of startling, even at the sound of death-screams – scattered. From the corner of his eye Arthur saw Kay’s stallion rear as Merlin thundered past.

He barely had control before another familiar voice hit his ears, indecipherable shouting resolving into spitting curses as Gwaine barreled into sight. “Get the hell out of the way!”

The path was clear in Merlin’s wake, and Gwaine’s mount didn’t even slow.

“What the hell was that?” Leon gaped, staring at the two men who were racing toward the wood as if an army followed hot on their heels. 

Arthur blinked. “Merlin.”

“Gwaine was with him,” Percival added, as the road curved and took them out of sight.

Caradoc swore, unexpectedly vicious. “Man down!”

A quick glance showed Kay groaning in the grass, curled around one arm. His stallion had pranced into the nearby field, nostrils flared and head tossed high. Rings of white circled the beast’s eyes.  

 _What the hell_ was _that?!_ Sparking irritation flared into anger; Arthur pulled Llamrai around even as he shouted for his men. “Tor, Caradoc, get Kay to Gaius. Percival, Leon, with me.” A touch of his heels and his mare exploded into a gallop. “Ha!”

 

* * *

 

Gwaine tore through a thin netting of branches, feeling young wood track stinging lines across his face. _For love of all that’s sacred -_ “Merlin!”

A constant flicker of movement was all that ensured he didn’t lose sight of the manservant despite the easy blend of brown clothes on brown horse amidst the browns of the forest. Froth streaked his mount’s mouth; the animal was too old for this pace, and spooked by Merlin’s shouting besides. Gwaine kicked his heels against the horse’s sides as it began to slow, cursing all the while. _Herbs for Gaius, eh?_ “Wait! _Merlin!_ ”

Ahead, the manservant abandoned the road and took to the trees, not pausing for a moment.

Gwaine swore again, tucking lower against his mount’s neck. Black mane flew in his face even as he struggled to see through the cover of new leaves and blooming undergrowth. _He’s going to get himself killed!_      

His horse stumbled, and for one horrifying instant Gwaine knew he would be thrown. His heart leapt up his throat, sweaty hands clenching in coarse mane even as his legs clamped tight for dear life. It was a full minute after the animal recovered, staggering forward past the tangle of roots and mud that had nearly brought them both down, before Gwaine remembered to breathe.

In that moment, however, he had lost sight of Merlin.

Beneath him, his horse heaved for breath, sides moving like a bellows as its head dropped toward the forest floor. _Poor thing_. A moment’s deliberation had him swinging to the dirt, apologizing to the beast with a gentle hand to the neck. “We’re not likely to catch him now, anyway. I’m sorry, girl.”

A terrible cry shattered the air, deep and rumbling, piercing Gwaine’s heart full-on. The horse screamed in response, white flashing in its eyes as it fled back toward Camelot.

Boots digging into slippery leaf-litter, Gwaine took off for the sound. The strange echo had barely faded away before a woman’s enraged scream split the air. _Northeast, not thirty meters distant -_

A more familiar voice followed, more angry than fearful. “No-!”

_Merlin!_

Dodging a clump of underbrush, Gwaine barreled through the trees. He got three steps before the ground shuddered, sending him staggering sideways to fetch up against an ivy-covered oak. _What the bloody blazes –_

He found his feet as the world stilled, and stood in a forest utterly, unnaturally silent. “Merlin?”

His own voice was the only sound, falling flat against enclosing branches and sunlit leaves. 

After a few cautious steps the ground didn’t appear inclined to dance again anytime soon, but a sudden tremor like the one that had shaken the copse encircling Camelot’s outer fields could only come from one source. _Magic._

Cursing himself for a slow-witted fool, Gwaine shoved through the underbrush at a near-run, searching for anything that would guide him to his friend. Luck was with him; fighting through a particularly thorny patch, Gwaine stumbled out and into a trail of broken branches and trampled greenery. Sap trembled from split bark.

It was large, and fast, and had come this way minutes earlier. _Merlin. Has to be._

Gwaine broke into a run, the silence still reigning over the woods weighing on his heart. _It was a woman. Not Merlin – it couldn’t have been._ His lungs heaved, sucking in air, fear tightening his chest though the lack of chainmail lent him extra speed.  

Ahead, leaves rustled, and something gave a small, plaintive cry.

Legs burning, Gwaine shoved through the low-hanging branches of an overgrown mulberry, rounded a massive trunk, and burst into a bright clearing. His toes caught on something and the ground abruptly rose beneath his other foot. _Ooof!_

Spitting leaves, he rolled, yanking his lower half clear of the – heavy, substantial yet giving, about a meter and a half long, covered in leaves, but shaped oddly like a – _body!_

Heart thrumming even as his gut clenched, Gwaine stayed near long enough to make out long curls and pallid skin; familiar, feminine curves. Disgust lay thick on the back of his tongue, and Gwaine spat as he pushed away from her. His jaw tightened even as he scrambled upright.

 _Morgana_.

For all the fierce madness that lived in her eyes when awake, now she was nothing more than a wild tangle of black hair and cloth, slumped in the leaf-litter at the base of a giant yew.

_And me, without a blade._

. . . Merlin hadn’t one either.

Brown eyes widening in sudden fear, Gwaine spun, searching –

Hunched near the edge of the clearing was one manservant, moving and breathing and fully conscious. Relief loosened every muscle from Gwaine’s chest to his knees, blowing from his lungs in an unsteady breath. _No blood._ “Merlin. Herbs for Gaius? I’ll never buy that excuse -”

An arm’s length from his friend, Gwaine finally caught a glimpse of what the other man was curled around, and his chin decided to get suddenly reacquainted with his chest.

White scales. A thin, ropy tail wound tight around brown breeches, the very tip lashing. _Wings_ , pressed close against a much smaller, rounder body. 

It was tiny, and its forearms encircled Merlin’s ribs even as the servant’s hands ran gently down scaled sides. This close, Gwaine could hear little mewls of discomfort as the – _dragon!_ – burrowed its head beneath Merlin’s neckerchief.

_Ugh-ugh-ugh-ugh-ugh-ugh._

Gwaine stared.

Merlin was . . . purring. If you could call a noise that deep and threatening a purr. Something about the rumbling sound shivered down Gwaine’s spine, reaching a hand deep into his gut and twisting with unease. _Danger._

But Merlin’s face was lined with unhappiness, and the little dragon’s cries eased only slightly.

Alright, then.

A low moan sounded at his back. _Morgana!_

Grabbing up a heavy branch that looked as if it’d already been put to good use, Gwaine turned to face the threat head-on.

 _A witch, a dragon, and a knight meet in the woods._ As terrible jokes went, that was an average start. _Wonder who’s the butt of this one._

His knuckles pressed white around the limb’s girth.

Morgana’s ragged black skirt rippled with the shifting of her legs.

 _She’s going to wake up._  

The Knight’s Code forbade violence against women. _What about witches?_ Gwaine wondered inanely, arms tensing. _Any other sorceress, and Uther himself wouldn’t have hesitated._

Behind him, the small dragon gave a pained cry, and Merlin’s low rumble started up again. 

 _We outnumber her. She’s injured._ And when she woke, the witch would kill them with a blink of her eyes. _Strategic retreat._ “Merlin,” he hissed, voice low. The rumbling croon cut off, and encouragement filled Gwaine’s lungs. “Get ready to -”

Half of a Camelot patrol burst from the woods.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Leon remembered, vividly, the sound of the Great Dragon’s roar.

_A wall of noise and flame and magic slammed across his skin, as if chainmail and plate didn’t even exist. The air around him roiled with heat, searing his lungs; the battlements beneath his boots reverberated faintly with echoing fury._

This was worlds apart.

_Is it – chirping?_

At his side, the King stared. “Is that a -”

“Baby,” Leon muttered. _I thought they started off . . . bigger._

“Dragon?” Percival breathed.

“Merlin.” Arthur stepped forward, blade at the ready.

The manservant didn’t hear him.

The – the _dragon_ was pressed against Merlin’s chest, its bottom curled in his lap as it stretched its small head towards the servant’s downturned face. A white scaly rope of tail had wound around his waist. Pale wings were mantled tightly against its back, and its foreclaws clung to the blue linen surrounding Merlin’s ribs. Leon could hear tiny, distressed _cheet_ s escaping its throat.  

And Merlin was decidedly unafraid, despite claws Leon knew to be razor-sharp.

_Is he – rumbling?_

A deep growl emerged from Merlin in a soothing croon, even as he pressed his red neckerchief against the dragon’s side. The creature yelped, curling tight in a full-body flinch.

Leon winced against the sound piercing his ears.

Arthur tried again. “Merlin -”

“A little help?” Gwaine, armed with a thick branch, was standing over –

_Morgana!_

A flick of his hand sent Percival stepping sideways, focused on the dragon, even as Leon forced himself to follow Arthur and turn his back on the creature. Unease itched between his shoulderblades. _It’s not paying any attention to you,_ he reminded himself. _It’s wounded. Small._

Deadly. And even across the clearing, far too close.

_How does Merlin stand it?_

The familiar weight of his sword rested comfortingly in his palm. Morgana’s hand flexed under their watch, fingers curling briefly before going still. _We have moments, at best._

“What happened?” Arthur snapped, holding the sword from the stone at the ready.

“Don’t know,” Gwaine grunted. No chainmail, nor even a blade, he was the most vulnerable but for the fact their foe was a witch, against whom armor meant little. “I got here just before you did. But she’s waking up.”

 _If we could bind her –_ “Have we anything to restrain her?” Leon tried.

“Rope, against magic?” Gwaine snorted. 

At their backs, Percival shifted, his movement telling in the crunch of undergrowth. “I think there’s some chain, here -”

“Don’t touch it!” The snapped command was heavy with an authority that stopped Leon in his tracks; across the clearing, Percival froze with one hand extended towards metal glinting from beneath fallen leaves.

Because the source of the shout was Merlin, voice loud and commanding in a way Leon had never heard.

“Why not?” Arthur demanded.  

The servant glared at shining links, an untold anger in blue eyes that took Leon aback. “It’s enchanted.”

Percival took a step away even as Arthur frowned. “How do you know?” Skepticism rang clear in the King’s voice.

“Do you really think normal chains can hold a dragon?” Merlin asked. He rose, arms cradling the tiny creature burrowed tightly against his side.

“It’s a baby,” Percival pointed out.  

“It’s a _dragon_ ,” Leon found himself saying, voice spitting venom. In the surprised silence that followed, Merlin was the only one who would meet his gaze. The servant’s blue stare was flat. “Sire,” Leon took a breath. “What about Morgana?”

“We won’t get a better chance.” Gwaine hadn’t let go of the branch.  

_To do what?_

A glance showed his fellow knights thinking the same thing.

Gwaine could be counted on never to be silent for long. “We can’t bring her back with us. The dungeons would never hold her.”

 _True. But._ Leon cleared his throat, blade never wavering from the witch’s neck. “You’re saying we should just leave her here? So close to Camelot?”

 “She was here anyway without our knowing,” Merlin muttered. Leon could hear him shifting closer, and couldn’t stop the rise of tension in his shoulders.  

Percival came with him, longsword unsheathed. “Aye. An hour’s walk from the citadel, at most.”  

“Morgana grew up in Camelot,” Arthur interrupted, weariness coating every syllable. “She knows the city and these woods as well as I. She is a formidable fighter. And she has magic. I think it’s time we stopped fooling ourselves that she can’t get in whenever she wants, probably without anyone knowing at all.” Leon had watched Arthur put away any fear of difficult decisions with his childhood; it was no surprise when the King’s mouth opened to say what they were all avoiding.

The only surprise was that Merlin got there first. “The only other choice is to kill her.”

“And that is no choice at all,” Arthur murmured.

Indecision stayed their hands, even as a low moan broke the silence. Heart kicking against his ribs, Leon looked to Arthur.

“Fine,” Merlin snapped, and suddenly he was shouldering Leon aside, blade in one hand and dragon in the other. “I’ll do it.”       

_Where did he get –_

Something prickled along the back of Leon’s neck, charging the space around his skin.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

He swallowed on a dry throat, ignoring the sudden flurry of voices, ignoring Percival pushing past to grab Merlin by the shoulder.

Morgana’s breathing had changed, and Leon _knew_ even before his gaze found hers.

_Time’s up._

“Hello, boys.”

Pale green flashed to gold with the force of a battering ram slamming against his ribs.

 

 

* * *

 

They _d_ _ared_ to surround her.

Four of them, now that Leon was just a body at the base of a tree. _And Arthur’s commoner knights aren’t even armed._ Of the two with weapons, Merlin was useless and cowering besides. _Only one of them can call himself a threat._

The one who held her throne.

And none of them as important as what she’d come back to retrieve in the first place. Green eyes darted about the clearing, searching for the faintest hint of white. _Where is it?_

Morgana smirked through faint curls of nausea, pushing away the dizziness clouding her vision to see how they hung back in a loose circle. Surrounding her, yes – but keeping their distance all the same. “Arthur. Fancy seeing you here.”

Gwaine swung his branch, and Morgana laughed at the faint breeze that hit her skin; he hadn’t even come near enough for her to need to dodge.

“Morgana.” Her brother took a step forward, blade at the ready. “What are you doing here?”

She didn’t move. “Oh you needn’t fear, Arthur.” _Not now that my army is dead or run._ Bitterness coated her tongue; Morgana snapped out each word. “I’ve just come to collect something I left behind.” _Something that will be the death of you, and all of Camelot._

“What?”

So blunt. Such a fool. Morgana tilted her head. “Nothing that would interest you.”

Arthur hadn’t lowered his blade. _Maybe not a fool after all, for all the good it will do him._ Her magic was back; and whatever enchantment Emrys had used was long faded. When he advanced again, she shifted to one side. Arthur’s voice, when he spoke, was tight. “You’d be surprised.”

“Ha!” The laugh burst past her lips without permission; Morgana scanned the treetops, tying down the disappointment that was fast turning to frustration. _Where did it go?!_ “You have no interest in magic beyond destroying it, Arthur Pendragon.”   

Watching them tense, as if the word itself had power, filled her with dark amusement. _Enough of this._ “As I will destroy you. _Tæfle!_ ”

Dead leaves exploded into the air, clogging the clearing with flaking foliage. A shout sounded to her left, and Morgana waved one hand, stirring up a wind to hide within. _Surprise can win battles for you; haven’t you learned that yet, Arthur?_

“For the love of Camelot!”

 _Apparently not. Predictable._ Perhaps there had not yet been enough time for the lesson to sink in.

Even as Arthur swung, she was sliding back, and Arthur’s knights scuttled away from her like ants from rain. Vicious satisfaction overtook her, spreading over her face in a smile. _Distance will not save you._

Arthur lunged and she whirled away through the swirling leaves, his blade finding nothing but the air swishing past her skirts.

For a half-second Morgana remembered being a child new-arrived in Camelot, playing keep-away with Arthur and Gwen on the training fields at dusk after the knights had finished for the day. _He never could catch me._

And he never would. They were past childish games now.

 _I am going to_ end _this._ She threw out one hand, palm raised. “ _Hleap on bæc!_ ”

“Aaaah!”

Startled cries dripped into her ears, honey-sweet, followed by bodies impacting the earth. Arthur was groaning, the other two shifting, but all were down and battered by the continuous wind that hurled sticks, leaves, and dirt upon them. _Turtles, upended on the bank and struggling to turn over._ No – not all. _One, two, three -_

Morgana twisted sharply, and found a blade had been resting, all unknowing, at her back. _I should have known._ Hatred throttled the syllable as it left her mouth. “ _You._ ”

“Morgana.”

A sneer pulled at her face. _Coward._ No matter how calm his voice, he was still curved away from her like a tree before the storm, squinting against the dirt on the wind. _Sword or not, I will make him scream before he dies._  

A step back and aside cleared her from his immediate reach. _And with one hand wielding that blade he’ll not get any power behind a strike._ If he was even capable-

Blazing white peeked out from beneath the servant’s jacket. The air caught in Morgana’s lungs as her ribs tightened, disbelief stringing every muscle taut.

A slender rope of tail; a quick flash of thin membrane stretched between strong bones; all pressed close to a round little body held tight to the murderous coward’s side, mostly hidden still.

_No. No!_

Her conjured wind died; the leaf-litter swirling through the clearing settled with abnormal speed. Shifting movement in the corner of her sight was one of Arthur’s commoner knights – the one with the branch – finding his feet again.

“Merlin.” Fury squeezed her tight, widening her eyes and making her hands shake. _I am going to kill him._ Not now, not when she knew how soft young scales were. Vulnerable. _As soon as I get it safely from him, I am going to snap his neck._ “Give me the dragon, Merlin.”

Blade high, he didn’t pause. “No.”

“I will enjoy killing you.” She took a breath, reaching for her magic. _I cannot – but maybe distraction can._ “And I _will_ have it!”

“Dragons cannot be chained!”

Laughter rose up in her, full throated and rich – Morgana let it free. _The chain._ “Tell that to Uther!”

Arthur was standing now; he always was quick to recover.

“When will you let the dead lie, Morgana?”

He _dared._ She couldn’t stop the words; fairly screamed them. “When I have what is rightfully mine!”

 _There. Three steps that way._ Magic, her own, sang familiarly off to one side, though she could see nothing through the covering of freshly settled leaves.

Merlin’s face twisted, blue eyes blazing in anger. “Dragons belong to no one! They are for the benefit of all!”

“And what would you know of it,” she spat, turning with her advance. Only a fool would fear a blade in Merlin’s hands. _Merlin, with so many secrets that Arthur doesn’t know. Let he who calls himself King hear it, then!_ And let him, so many times betrayed, doubt. Kingdoms had fallen from less. “A murdering servant, who would have killed his King-”

“That was your hand, Morgana, not mine.” He retreated as she stepped close, disregarding the sword’s edge.

_One._

“And when you poisoned me?” Another step forward, Arthur’s useless servant falling another step back. _Two._

She did not even have the joy of seeing him falter. Merlin circled away from the chain towards which she was driving him, arm tight about the dragon. “When did you meet with Morgause, Morgana? The night before she called the Knights of Medhir? You gave your will to her! You let her use your life to power that spell, or it never would have worked!”

 _How did he –_ She still only remembered that night in fuzzy flashes of half-awareness that seemed no more substantial than a dream. Teeth clenching, Morgana dove to the side, hand snapping out as she _called_ her magic back to her. “ _Strangath!_ ”

In a blink of time, her fingers closed about solid metal links, tingling gently with the weight of her power. A flick of one wrist sent the chain whipping through the air.

Untrained, he lifted the sword in a feeble attempt to smack the links away. _Pathetic._

_Clang!_

She smirked as magicked steel twined about the blade, tightening with a thought. In the corner of her eye, the largest knight found his feet again, weight shifted almost entirely off one leg.

_Cra-ack! Tang-tang-tang!_

Metal shards hit the ground with a foreboding _shush-sh_ , sinking beneath the leaves.

Satisfaction purred within her as blue eyes widened at the useless hilt. “Give me the dragon,” she offered, the scent of victory spurring an over-generous lie, “and I might let you live.” _Long enough to watch me chain it, at least._

“ _Never._ ”

Morgana lunged, snake-strike quick, without any magic needed. _Mine!_

Brown cloth slipped from her grasp, disappearing between one blink and the next.

_Where –_

She whirled on the servant who had somehow tripped out of her way. He was trying to brace himself now, curled around the tiny dragon. Its screeches split the air as Morgana stalked forward, palm out. 

Merlin opened his mouth, and _hissed_.

Not the sound of an irritated cat, nor even a deadly snake’s warning. It was the noise of a full bellows, tightly compressed; the noise of leashed power just barely contained. And it was a noise she had heard before.

_Wings, and scales, and fire._

Fear grabbed at Morgana’s insides, widening green eyes in a shock of familiarity. Deep inside, her magic quavered in a way it had never done, even when Emrys had stolen her power.

_The great dragon._

Merlin stood taller now, and somehow broader. The baby dragon’s head emerged from beneath his jacket, and its eyes were fixed on her as it mimicked the noise pressing out of him, baring tiny teeth.

Gut deep instinct shoved her back, something within screaming _danger!_ and _not human!_

The horrible noise got impossibly louder, blue eyes boring into her as Morgana faltered. Her hands hadn’t shaken since the first time she’d landed a killing strike. Fingers clenched to suppress faint tremors, she stumbled back. _What is he!_

“Come near her again,” Merlin promised, voice as dark as her magic, “and I _will_ kill you.”

Her breath rasped out on a dry throat. Unreasonable terror grabbed at her knees, wobbling her backwards to the treeline. _Goddess, help me!_

He would strike as soon as she looked away. She _knew_ it; couldn’t tear her eyes from his, even as her heart pounded the inside of her ribs. A tree blocked her view, then another –  she fetched up against solid bark and Morgana twisted, fisted hands buried in black folds, dragging her skirt high to _run_.

_Goddess, he’s at my back!_

Air tore through her lungs in rapid sobs, fear gripping her voice in a stranglehold. _Go!_

Running wouldn’t take her far enough, not fast enough to escape the roar booming through the trees after her. Panic screamed through her with the first stumble, dumping her to the ground even as her voice revived. “ _Bedyrné me! Astýre me ƥanonweard!_ ”

The wind swept around her in a cradling embrace, and carried her away.

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N2: All spells sourced from the Merlin Wiki. Tweaking also took place. 
> 
> Tæfle: (The Sword in the Stone, Part 1) Spell used by Morgana to attack Arthur, Percival, and Elyan.
> 
> Hleap on bæc: (The Sword in the Stone, Part 2) Spell used by Morgana in the throne room against Arthur, Merlin, Gwen, Tristan and Isolde that failed due to Merlin’s poppet suppressing her magic.
> 
> Strangath: (The Diamond of the Day, Part 1) Spell used by Merlin to attempt to summon a cup to his hand. Hopefully this means something like “Come!” and not something basic like “Cup!” which would be embarrassing. Couldn’t find the translation on the site, so I’m crossing my fingers for this one.
> 
> Bedyrné me! Astýre me ƥanonweard: (The Fires of Idirsholas) Originally: Bedyrné ús!Astýre ús ƥanonweard, used by Morgause to transport herself and Morgana away at the end of the episode. Presuming that the original “ús” actually meant “us,” I substituted the “me” from Nimueh’s “hiersume me” spell causing the cave ledge to crumble beneath Arthur in ‘The Poison Chalice,’ to singularize it. I hope.


End file.
